


guess who

by attheborder



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Memory Loss, Puzzles, it's about the matching pajamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/pseuds/attheborder
Summary: “Ha!” exclaimed A. “We’re married!” He grabbed C.’s hand and held it up, pointing at the gold band around his ring finger.C. stared at the ring, and then at A., a delighted grin appearing on his face. “Oh— that’s brilliant!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 878





	guess who

The two men stared at the note, lying flat on the table.

The shorter one tentatively reached over to pick it up. “ONE OF YOU IS AN ANGEL, AND ONE OF YOU IS A DEMON,” he read out loud, for the redhead to hear, “BUT WHICH ONE IS WHICH? YOU HAVE HALF AN HOUR TO FIGURE IT OUT. IF YOU GET IT WRONG, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.” 

The reader looked back down to the table, where a small golden hourglass was dropping grains of sand smoothly and implacably into its lower half.

Then he looked at his companion. Like the reader himself, he was dressed in comfortable heather-gray pajamas, but embroidered above the pocket of his shirt was a small white C. 

The reader examined his own shirt front, and noted a matching letter A. 

“This is weird,” said C. “Isn’t it?” 

A. nodded. “A bit,” he admitted. “But it shouldn’t be too hard. Angels and demons are very different, after all.” 

“They are,” agreed C. He squinted at A., lines on his face crinkling around deep brown eyes, and A. noted with a jolt that C.’s eyes were— wrong, somehow, false, he was sure of it.

“There’s a sort of—glamour on you,” A. said cautiously. “Stopping me from seeing— certain things, that would give it away.” 

“Same with you,” said C., after a moment. “Part of the game, I suppose.” 

“Is it a game? Seems rather more like a punishment.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said C. airily, though A. could see the beginnings of tension building in his face and shoulders as he considered the idea.

“Let’s start with the basics,” said A., trying to be practical. “What do you know about angels?” 

“Well, they’re big, and powerful,” said C., “they’ve got glowy halos, swords of fire…” He gave A. an appraising glance, and A. felt all at once rather small and unimpressive. “What do you know about demons, then?”

A. had to think for a moment. His head felt uncomfortably half-full; the rattle of the remnants against the insides was distracting, calling attention to what was missing as he tried to focus on what wasn’t.

“Demons are... evil, certainly,” he said, “dangerous, dastardly beasts, with claws and tails and such…” 

He trailed off, looking at C., and then on impulse, reached out and grabbed C.’s hand. He led him out of the room, down the hall to a small bathroom, where they stood in front of the mirror, observing both reflections lined up next to each other.

With some relief, A. was able to confirm that he, like C., was a rather normal-looking man. He had perfectly straight white teeth, and blue-greyish eyes wide with concern.

“Don’t see any claws,” said C. quietly.

“Nor any halos,” confirmed A. 

“The glamour, then?” 

A. rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “Must be. How on earth are we supposed to be able to tell?” 

“Come on,” said C., “think of it like a mystery to solve. We can be like— Holmes and Watson! Elementary, my dear A.—”

“Oh, of course you think _you’re_ Holmes,” scoffed A. 

C. shot A. an offended look at that, and A. was struck with a distinct sensation of deja vu, like they’d run through this argument hundreds of times before. 

He looked back into the mirror for further inspection, and C. followed his lead, tugging at the lock of copper hair falling onto his forehead. “Very red,” he said. “A demon would have black hair, wouldn’t it? Greasy like an oil-spill, you’d think.”

A. ran a hand through his own fine curls. “Mine’s… sort of bone-colored,” he mused. “A bit spooky.” He held up his hands, examining them. The nails were very manicured; almost vain in their neatness. Well, there was another clue to add to the _demon_ column for himself. 

As soon as that thought came to him, he realized they needed some sort of practical organizational system, if they were going to go about this properly. He led C. out of the bathroom, back to the table where the note and the hourglass were, standing in the middle of a quaint but expansive kitchen. Then he rifled through a few drawers until he found the requisite basic supplies. 

The two of them then sat down, and proceeded to fill out a full sheet of A4 paper with a chart, C.’s chicken-scratch mixing in with A.’s neat print.

Under the header labeled _C = ANGEL, A = DEMON_ were notes like _A shorter (demons shorter, closer to Hell)_ and _C skinnier = ascetic? like monk._

In the _A = ANGEL, C = DEMON_ column were an equal number of ideas, such as _A hair = white like halo_ and _C is very pointy (sharp = dangerous?)._

Eventually, after the hourglass had ticked away nearly all of the allotted time, C. frowned down at the paper and its assorted scribblings. 

“... It _could_ be a trick question,” he said slowly. 

“Sorry?” 

“Maybe we’re both angels.” 

A. fiddled with his pen. C. being an angel he could believe— there was something so simply _lovely_ about him— but his view of himself, even from just half an hour of conscious experience, felt quite far from the kind of perfection he felt an angel ought to exist in a permanent state of. He was soft, and rather snippish, and he’d _definitely_ grown a bit hungry since the game began.

“Or both demons…?” A. ventured to suggest. 

C. raised his right eyebrow, in a majestic feat of facial control. “I don’t know about that,” he said.

"Well, there are _lots_ of things you don't know. Obviously." 

Then, and only then, did A. see something that they’d both missed. He was watching C. write down _A is very mean_ under the _A = DEMON_ heading, and as his long fingers moved, the light glinted off something small and shining.

“Ha!” exclaimed A. “We’re _married!”_ He grabbed C.’s hand and held it up, pointing at the gold band around his ring finger. 

C. stared at the ring, and then at A., a delighted grin appearing on his face. “Oh— that’s brilliant!” he said. 

He leaned forward and, without another word, kissed A., deeply and happily. A. melted into the touch, C.’s mouth fitting perfectly and sweetly against his own. 

“Ah—! Thank you,” said A., when at last C. pulled away. He wished they had time for a bit more of that, but when he glanced over at the hourglass, there was barely a minute left. “But that’s not— you see, _that’s_ the answer! I’ve figured it out!” 

C. tipped his head, frowning. “What do you mean?” 

“Angels and demons _don’t get married,”_ A. said confidently, tapping his own matching wedding band. “It’s basic theology, my dear. You see, it _is_ a trick question after all— just not the way we were thinking—” 

Comprehension dawned on C.’s face. “ _Neither_ of us are the angel, _or_ the demon,” he said. “...But what about the glamour—?” 

“That,” said A. confidently, “was a red herring!” 

C. nodded, his expression nervous, but absolutely open and trusting. A. wondered what he’d done to deserve to be married to such a lovely man. Hopefully, he’d be finding out soon. 

C. began, “If we’re wrong—” 

“We’re not, I’m _sure_ of it!” 

“—I know, I think you’re right too, but if we _are,”_ insisted C., and he took A.’s hands in his, “and we don’t make it out of this— if we face consequences, like it said— I just want you to know—” 

His mouth fought with itself, failing to form words, and eventually he just gave up and kissed A. again, a swift press this time, the _goodbye_ to the earlier kiss’s _hello._

Then he let go, reached for the note, and flipped it over, scribbling something down on the blank side. 

He stood up, and so did A., their gaze meeting for a single second, dense with tension and hope and expectation.

At that moment, the last drops of sand in the hourglass fell away. There was the sound of a gentle chime from all around, then a bright flash of white light, splintering into rainbow fractals that burst around the both of them in jagged sparks. 

When the light cleared, nothing had changed at all, except for the color of Crowley’s eyes, and the uncloaking, in an invisible dimension very close by, of two sets of gently folded wings. 

Crowley looked down at the paper, where _BOTH HUMAN!_ had been written in his own handwriting just seconds before. 

“Wow,” he said, not having much else to say. 

Aziraphale blinked to clear away the flash of light that marked the expiration of their temporary spell. “Well. That took quite the turn,” he said. 

Crowley only had a wordless noise of affirmation to add to that. Aziraphale dusted his hands off, like he’d just tried a new recipe that had turned out horribly wrong, but wasn’t really all that put off, because he’d get to primly call it a _learning experience_ if anyone asked. 

“A no-score draw,” he said, with a gentle, knowing smile. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you're allowed to be a _little_ mad that you lost!” 

“I could say the same to you,” Aziraphale retorted. “seeing as you _also_ lost. I suppose next time we construct this kind of wager for our Sunday morning amusement, we’d best account for options other than the obvious two.”

“You’d think by now we’d have learned that,” Crowley laughed, and he gathered Aziraphale close to him. Aziraphale hummed into Crowley’s shoulder, sinking into the well-known warmth of it as Crowley ran a gentle, casual hand through his hair. 

“I really thought you were so beautiful, you know,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“ _Thought?!”_ Crowley cried in mock-outrage. “What’s this past tense?” 

“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t know a thing about you, or me, or what we were, or who we are, and I still thought you were the most lovely thing I’d ever have the pleasure to see.” 

“Mmm,” squeaked Crowley. “I— yeah. Felt something similar, I think.” 

Aziraphale felt that there was probably further discussion to be had regarding the conclusion they’d come to, in their altered state, but he was content to leave it be, for now. They had plenty of time. And right now, he had other priorities— the miracle required for their little gamble had been a hefty one, even with Crowley supplying half the necessary energy. He could absolutely go for a snack.

“Shall we get dressed?” Aziraphale suggested. “The farmers market is about to get very crowded, I think.”

“Would hate for you to miss out on your precious pears,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale smiled at that. It was going to be a good day, he thought. They’d eat some, read some, kiss some, and then at the end of it, possibly even sleep some. 

_BOTH HUMAN,_ indeed. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> the strength it took not to be wildly basic and title this "honey you're familiar" ...
> 
> i'm on tumblr! [@areyougonnabe](http://areyougonnabe.tumblr.com)


End file.
